


Hysterical Strength

by otherpartyfavors, ThisChairIsMyHomeNow



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Childbirth, Christmas, Drunk Maria Hill, F/M, Gen, Getting Back Together, Infertility, Kissing, Marriage, Perspectives on Motherhood, Post-Extremis Pepper Potts, TONY AND PEPPER GETTING BACK TOGETHER, Time Skips, a dash of Episcopalianism, picking up right after Iron Man 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherpartyfavors/pseuds/otherpartyfavors, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisChairIsMyHomeNow/pseuds/ThisChairIsMyHomeNow
Summary: When the suits stop exploding in the shipyard, Pepper pulls away from Tony just enough to look him in the eye and say, as if the thought just occurred to her, “I want to have a baby.” (This is not a kidfic.)





	1. Christmas Eve 2012

**Author's Note:**

> **Hysterical strength** , or superhuman strength, is a display of extreme strength by humans, beyond what is believed to be normal, usually occurring when people are in life and death situations. Common anecdotal examples include mothers lifting vehicles to rescue their children. Such examples, however, have not been proven and have been dismissed by doctors...research into the phenomenon is difficult, though it is thought that it is theoretically possible. - Wikipedia

When the suits stop exploding in the shipyard, Pepper pulls away from Tony just enough to look him in the eye and say, as if the thought just occurred to her, “I want to have a baby.” 

She almost died tonight and she wants to have a baby. 

She almost died tonight and she wants a big, fat baby. An 8 pound, drooling, screaming mess of an infant, with Tony’s eyes and Tony’s smile, but hopefully not Tony’s sarcasm or even his genius, because how would she survive two of them? 

As expected: Tony looks gobsmacked. “Aren’t we putting the cart before the horse, here?” 

Pepper raises exactly one eyebrow. “Are you calling our future child a cart?” 

“Hey—that’s not a terrible name,” Tony says. “You know celebrities and our strange baby names. ‘Cart’ is tremendously better than Pilot Inspektor. Or Apple.”

“I’m serious,” Pepper clarifies. She is. She’s always wanted to be a mother, but it’s been a vague concept up until now - an eventuality, not a living, breathing ache. She didn’t play with dolls when she was younger; she didn’t pick out names; she’s always been more concerned with board meetings than the idea of breastfeeding. Yet this ache overtakes her now, ferocious and sudden and overwhelming: to nurture and protect. 

“Oh, I’m serious too,” Tony says. “Apple is a terrible baby name. And we should probably get married before we start, ah, procreating. I’ve never been one for convention, but I like that idea.”

“Will you marry me, Tony?”

When you fall 200 feet to your fiery death and come back out on the other side, suddenly the perfect plan doesn’t matter anymore. Why the hell shouldn’t she ask? Why shouldn’t she initiate? Is it a sin for a woman to reach for what she wants? She already has her dream job. Now what she wants is Tony. Tony and a fat, Tony-faced baby and maybe even another one after that. 

“Since when are you the impulsive type?” he asks, studying her face carefully, cocking his head to one side. He’s intrigued by the idea. 

“I almost died,” Pepper reminds him. “You almost died. It’s called perspective.” 

“Uh, I think it’s called adrenaline.” 

She kisses him then, deeply, just to show him that she means business. She kisses him and kisses him and wonders how in the hell they made it out of this one alive. She wonders how they even met at all. The playboy son of an industrial titan. A squeaky clean and somewhat traditional secretary from Connecticut. Iron Man and a CEO. 

“Marry me,” she says, breaking off. It’s not actually a question.

His smile flashes bigger than she’s ever seen it in all her years of knowing him. He looks surprised, pleased, and a little drugged up too, but not on Vicodin or hero-fumes. He’s high on her. On this. 

“Well, if you insist,” he says. “How about right now?” 

“Right now?” Pepper asks, looking around. “In this shipyard?”

“Hey, you started this. You know I’m a reckless son of a bitch.”

“What do you mean by right now?”

He tips his forehead against hers and closes his eyes, like he’s praying, even though he doesn’t do that (she does that enough for the both of them). She closes her eyes too, woozy with it, rolling with it. 

“Virginia Potts,” he says, “Paperwork or no paperwork. Priest or no priest. In sickness and in health. For richer or for poorer - although let’s be real, there will be no poorer. For as long as I live. It’s you, Pep. There’s no one else for me. And not just because nobody else will put up with me. Because you’re the kindest, most thoughtful, most intelligent woman I know. I couldn’t unlove you even if I tried.” 

She gets it: There’ll be a ceremony eventually, and it will be lavish and boast an impressive guest list and an open bar and probably involve a lot of drunken stars and Avengers, but that’s not what matters. All that matters is their vows and the strength it takes to keep them. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Your turn to say nice stuff to me.”

Pepper won a poetry contest at age 16, published in a magazine and everything, but she can’t seem to summon that dormant skill on the spot. Life with Tony won’t be flowery, that’s for sure, so she speaks the truth plainly: “Anthony Stark. Your ass is mine. Forever.”

He laughs giddily, like they’re sharing an inside joke. Suddenly everything is hilarious. They’re getting married right here and now. 

“I love you,” she says.

“Even if I go bankrupt?” he asks. 

“Even if you go bankrupt.” 

“Even if I go bald?” he asks. 

“Even if you go bald.” 

“Even if I fuck up?” he asks. 

“Even when you fuck up.” 

“You promise?” he asks, raw and young sounding. Almost scared. 

“I do,” Pepper says. 

You may kiss the bride. 

And oh, how he does.

When they finally break off he says, “So you wanna go pick out rings, or can we skip to the part where we get a room?” 

“I could use a shower,” she shrugs, still covered in ash and grime.

“JARVIS,” Tony asks, putting in his earpiece. “What’s the nicest hotel in Miami?” 

“According to several reviews, there is one called the Mandarin Oriental that is - ”

“NOPE, nope,” Tony shudders. “Had enough of the Mandarin for a lifetime.” 

“I can book you a room at the Ritz-Carlton,” JARVIS offers. 

“Get us the honeymoon suite,” Tony says, hand on Pepper’s cheek. 

 

Pepper worries she’ll set the (spacious, beautiful) room on fire somehow in her Extremis-afflicted condition. Tony reassures her as he peels off their clothing and guides them into the shower. He kisses every inch of her wet skin. He whispers endless apologies into it. He’ll make everything better. She’ll be her same old self. He’ll fix everything. Up against the tile wall, they make love with the sort of desperation and tenderness expected after a near-death experience. They make love like they still might lose each other. 

 

**

 

Tony runs 2 tests. 

Tony runs about 50 tests, and around the time Pepper does in fact almost set his lab in Stark Tower ablaze, he calls in Dr. Banner and Dr. Helen Cho for the extra mind-power. 

They hook her body up to electrodes and make serious scientist faces. They study computer screens and drink coffee while she lies there and hopes for results that don’t involve her turning into a giant red rage monster. She lies there and tries not to picture Killian’s lecherous face when they poke and prod. Tony holds her hand a lot, and beams at her, and cracks jokes to lighten the mood. 

He calls her Mrs. Stark, quiet like a secret, still an inside joke between them. She likes it. She daydreams of a swollen belly, of swollen ankles, and a ring on her finger. Maybe her fingers swell too, so she wears the ring as a necklace. She’s Mrs. Stark.  
Mrs. Potts-Stark?   
Mrs. Stark-Potts.   
No, that doesn’t work.   
To hell with hyphenation.   
She’s Mrs. Stark and she likes it. 

It takes a few weeks before she’s all sorted out. But Killian’s curse does lift, and on a routine day of follow-up testing, when it’s just her and Dr. Cho, Dr. Cho squints at a pelvic scan and shuffles through blood-work and paperwork and asks a simple, hesitant question: “You haven’t had a period since Extremis, have you?”

When Pepper was seven years old her family was in a car accident. It was nothing catastrophic, no fatalities, and the car wasn’t even totalled. The weird part: Pepper felt it coming a literal mile before it happened. They passed the Yacht Club and she knew to brace herself; the intersection was still a minute or so away. 

She feels that same sense of foreboding now. She braces herself for impact.

“I guess I’m late. Sort of lost track of time with all of this going on.” 

Dr. Cho bites her lip concernedly and then says, “Hormonally, things are a very...off-kilter.” 

“Meaning?”

“I thought this might be a possibility when we started,” Dr. Cho says, “But I didn’t want to worry you for no reason.”

“Just say it, Helen.” 

“It appears that Extremis threw your body into premature ovarian failure. There are a few more tests I need to do, but all the bloodwork and scans are indicating severe damage to the reproductive system.”

“My eggs?” 

“Yes.”

“My eggs are...what, cooked?” 

“Damaged by extreme heat and chemicals,” Dr. Cho continues apologetically. “We see the same thing happen with people exposed to radiation or undergoing chemotherapy.” 

“I have been feeling a little...different,” Pepper says blankly, dumbly. In shock. 

“I imagine you would. Right now your body has the estrogen levels of a 50 year old.”

Her first instinct is to make a joke about hot flashes, because, well. The second instinct is to cry, which she does, slow and quiet at first but then oops: out comes a menopausal sob. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Cho says, and to Pepper’s surprise, Dr. Cho get a little teary too, like she’s just given a death notification. 

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “I’m going to try my best to see if there’s a way to solve this.” 

 

**

 

Pepper decides to wait until after Tony’s heart surgery to tell him. 

 

She decides to wait until after his trip to California to tell him. 

 

Finally, when he starts to suggest that they name the baby after his mom if it’s a girl, she decides to tell him. When he hears the news he sits down on the bed and puts his head in his hands. “I did this to you.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is. If I hadn’t - ” 

Later he says he’s going to take a shower and she offers to join him, but he says no, and once the water is running full force she can hear him crying from outside the door. 

 

**

 

Helen Cho stays in town another month for hormone replacement therapy and FSH monitoring and plenty of transvaginal ultrasounds and god, that wand is cold. 

Helen Cho is an expert in tissue regeneration, genetics, and fertility. If she can’t fix the problem, no one can.

She can’t fix the problem. 

“The ironic part is that I didn’t know how badly I wanted to be a mom until recently,” Pepper tells her over coffee and airport chatter. They both have flights to catch. “It just sort of snuck up on me. I always pictured it, I always wanted it, but it didn’t consume me like it has recently.” 

Helen nods. “Baby fever.” 

“Yes,” Pepper says, taking a sip of her latte. 

“I think you’d be a great mom,” Helen says. 

“Thank you, Helen. For everything.” 

Helen smiles ruefully and checks her watch. She gathers her things apologetically and they hug goodbye. 

“I hope you don’t give up,” Helen says. “Take some time to grieve. But don’t give up...there’s more than one way to be a mother.”


	2. Christmas Eve 2013

Tony and Pepper make it official after the last candle-lit service at St. Bart’s clears out. It’s the opposite of what people would expect a Stark wedding to look like: simple, no guests, and no announcements in the press. A secret, more or less. Just the Reverend, Rhodes as a witness, and a reaffirming of the vows they’ve already made. Not too many people can say they celebrated their 1st wedding anniversary by (more or less) eloping on Park Avenue.

Shockingly, it was Tony’s idea to keep it small. Pepper whole-heartedly embraced the notion, because she’s had enough glitzy parties to last her a lifetime, and also because she understands his unspoken reason: a full-on formal affair would only made his parents’ absence more pronounced and visible, like a hole cut out of a perfect photograph.

But just Pepper and him and Rhodey in cocktail attire? It makes it less obvious, somehow. Like maybe his mom and dad are still out there and will be pissed when they find out they weren’t invited. Like he wants a phone call later from them; an earful; a stern talking-to.

(Pepper told her own very-private, very-Episcopalian, very-Connecticotian parents in advance, who learned many years ago to not expect Pepper’s life to be normal, not now that she’s involved with “that Iron Man fellow - a former weapons contractor - but he flew into a wormhole to save us all!” They’d sent an astounding number of wedding gifts as a display of support.) 

The church is softly lit and quiet but for the sound of the Reverend’s voice reciting the prayers: 

“...grant that their wills be so knit together in your will, and their spirits in your Spirit, that they may grow in love and peace with you and one another all the days of their life...give them grace, when they hurt each other, to recognize and acknowledge their fault, and to seek each other’s forgiveness and yours...bestow on them, if it is your will, the gift and heritage of children…”

Her eyes flick away from Tony’s for a moment and land on the vaguely Byzantine nativity display over his shoulder. She looks at Mary with her baby in the manger and feels a cold stab of jealousy.


	3. Laura Barton & Natasha Romanoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do Laura and Natasha have to do with Pepper? Plotwise: Nothing. Thematically? Everything! Pepper’s journey will unfold alongside snapshots of the MCU’s mothers, in all of their multifaceted forms. 
> 
> Avert your eyes if childbirth freaks you out!

Laura glares at her midwife. The midwife is cooing something about “waves” and how this “wave” will subside soon. Sure, honey. Laura’s been through this. She knows she’s getting to the point where she’s not floating up and down in a gentle current. This right here is a hurricane.

She feels like her body is trying to empty itself of all its organs out her butt. She promises herself (again, as she did with the last kid), that she will never complain about period cramps again. Ha. She laughs out loud a bit, which makes Clint laugh, even though he doesn’t get the joke. Oh well. They’re laughing. She’s in labor: what a hoot.

With her feet on the floor and her bare ass to the wind, she’s leaning over the edge of the bed. Her arms grip the sheets. Her sweaty forehead rests on the mattress. She’s going to have to burn this bed later, she swears. This whole room. There’s an old towel underneath her feet—a drop cloth, if you will, for the clear liquid, blood, and mucus trickling down her legs. There might even be some pee in there, if she’s being completely honest.

One of Clint’s old t-shirts covers her chest. She’s not really sure why she’s still wearing it. The sweat and pain and heat and need to get this kid out of her is overwhelming enough—the touch of fabric and Clint’s calm hand on her forehead is too much. Thank you, but not right now! She stands up, somehow, miraculously, knowing that moving her hips, swaying to some nonexistent beat will move the baby down.

“I need music,” she tells Clint. “I need a beat! Give me Salt N Pepa! Give me Push It!”

He scrambles to put his iPod in the dock, laughing as the music starts.

“Don’t actually push yet,” her midwife reminds her.

Screw you, lady.

She simultaneously get the urge to both dance and vomit. She pukes a little on the mess of a towel, and the push of the vomit, the retch, increases the pressure in her crotch tenfold.

It registers slightly when the contractions come and go, but they stop and start so quickly now that she can’t catch her breath. It must be soon. That’s what Rain or Summer or Starlight (whatever the hell this hippy countryside midwife is called) keeps saying to her.

And then she feels it. Not it. Him. The tiny creature currently torturing her. She’s stretching, trying to breath. Someone is pulling her onto the bed. She’s on all fours, knees spread wide. She refuses to try to give birth on her back again. Clint sits by her head, the midwife sticks close to the rear situation. Watch out, lady. She’s shit herself during labor before and it might happen again.

_Ah, push it - push it good  
Ah, push it - push it real good_

She feels the urge to push so strongly she can’t do anything but push. The midwife keeps saying to blow in quick breaths. Keep from bearing down too much. Too damn bad, lady. This kid is coming out quick.

 _Salt and Pepa's here, and we're in effect_  
_Want you to push it, babe_  
 _Coolin' by day then at night working up a sweat_

Her hips feel like they are being pulled apart.

_C'mon girls, let's go show the guys -_

There’s an stinging so bad she screams a little. She knows this feeling. Her crotch is on fire. But then it all goes a little numb, just pressure, and the midwife says the head is out.

“Oh, NO,” Laura says. “Turn this music OFF. Quick! I don’t want this to be the first thing he hears!”

Then Clint’s scrambling again to do as she says.

Now for those shoulders. She waits, pausing slightly till the next urge to push takes over. It comes soon, and so does the baby, right into the midwife’s arms, wailing. There’s a flurry of movement about the room.  
She turns to lie down on her back now, now that the bulk of the work is over with, and Clint helps her get her nasty shirt over her head so they can lay the baby down on her bare chest after the midwife checks a few things.

And then there he is. Bloody and grouchy, just like she is. But their grouchiness lifts considerably, now that they’re together again. Skin on skin. There’s a rush of love. No, a flood, a deluge. Laura sighs. She’s the Grinch when his heart growing three times its size. It had been a secret fear of hers: that there wouldn’t be enough room in her heart for another one, especially this one. She recalls the utter surprise of the two lines on that fateful pregnancy test. The happiness and the fear that made her feel weak in the knees. The ecstatic but terrified look on Clint’s face when she told him.

Clint’s arms wrap around her and she welcomes it now. They beam at the newcomer clinging to her breast and name him Nathaniel Pietro, after the woman they know so well and the kid they wish they could have known better.

Nathaniel very groggily opens his eyes for the very first time and woah.

There is _definitely_ room in her heart. It can expand. It’s elastic. It’s fierce and soft and infinite.

“We’re just waiting on the placenta now,” the midwife says brightly.

Way to ruin the moment, lady.

“Gross,” Laura says to Nathaniel. “This is all so gross.”

 

***

 

“I asked for just the weekend off,” Natasha explains to Laura at the front door of the homestead. “But Steve insisted I take the whole month. He sends his congratulations.”

“God bless that man,” Laura says, because Steve Rogers knows baby gifts mean nothing to her and her adorable blob. What she needs most is Natasha, or else the whole system falls apart.

In the wake of a newborn, it’s all about zone defense: Laura takes care of Nathaniel; Clint takes care of Laura; Natasha is here to take care of Cooper and Lila.

Natasha takes care of all of them, really.

“Let me take him,” Natasha offers warmly, scoping up Nathaniel in her arms for the first time. “I’d draw you a hot bath and pour you some wine, but we both know those are off limits for now.”

“The doctors are fascists,” Laura pronounces. She stretches with her free arms.

“Oh, I brought you some more pads,” Natasha says. “You still bleeding?”

“Ugh. Yes. I tore too.”

Natasha shoos her off. “Go read a book or something. Rest. I’ll bring him to you when he starts getting hungry.”

“What would I do without you?”

 

**

 

“Auntie Nat,” Lila says. “Our friend Jake has two mommies but no daddy.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lila says. “His mommies are married to each other.”

Natasha stifles a laugh. She knows where this is going.

Lila puts down her coloring book. “I told him we have two mommies AND one daddy. But are you married to my mommy or to my daddy?”

Cooper says, “She’s not married to anybody, stupidhead.”

“No name calling,” Natasha reprimands.

“Sorry,” Cooper says.

“You’re not married to anybody?” Lila asks. “Do you want to be?”

“Not really,” Natasha says, meaning it.

Lila’s eyes go wide. “Do you want your own kids like out of your belly like when you eat a watermelon seed except a baby grows and not a watermelon?”

“Nope,” Natasha says, also meaning it. There have been maybe three or four moments in her life when the answer would’ve been different. It was more of a question than a longing. What would it have been like to have that life? But the older she gets, the clearer it becomes: that’s not a question she needs answered.

“Why not?” Cooper asks.

She gets up from the kitchen table and opens the freezer. It’s time for ice cream. Even though they’ve already brushed their teeth for the night. “Because then I wouldn’t get to hang out with you guys as much.”


	4. Christmas Eve 2015

The candles are lit, the cabernet sauvignon is poured, but neither of them drink it. Happy anniversary. 

_So this is Christmas, and what have you done?_

They were going to fly to Paris, but then they’d been rejected by yet another adoption agency. So it’s dinner at home in icy silence, occasionally staring up at each other from across the table.

All she can think of is the shipyard in Miami. Not the vows, not the suits exploding as a token of his love, but the moment right before she fell: The fraction of a second when she was sure he would come through and reach out and catch her, and then the moment after. The freefall. 

The agency’s rejection hadn’t been a surprise so much as the other shoe dropping. They’d put paperwork through to so many agencies they couldn’t keep track of them all, and they all said the same thing in the end, especially after Ultron: Tony’s lifestyle presented a safety threat to any potential adoptee. 

They’d tried private adoption too. They’d even been chosen, decorated a nursery, only to find out the birth mother had no real intention of relinquishing her parental rights. She’d merely picked a billionaire to pay her medical bills. Not a bad plan, really. It was popular one, too, because the next attempt a private adoption went the same way. Pepper’s ensuing devastation had turned to depression. 

“You know,” Tony says casually, trying to lighten the mood, “I visit a lot of foreign countries. Countries with orphanages. You know, the real sad ones. I could probably just bring one of those kids home. It’d really cut through all this red tape.”

“Not funny.” 

“C’mon,” he says, now draining his wineglass of its contents and pouring himself another. “We could be like the Jolie-Pitts. I’ll just strap ‘em to my suit and fly ‘em home.” 

“That’s called kidnapping.” 

“I’d do it for you,” he says. “I really would.”

“Fuck you,” Pepper growls. “You’d steal a baby for me? Oh, how _sacrificial_. You know what would’ve been a real sacrifice? If you’d have listened to the social workers _two years ago_. They gave you grace periods. They said if you could take a step back and stay out of trouble everything would work out. Now? No one is going to give us a baby if they think you’ll drop a _building_ on her.”

He finishes off another glass of wine and sets the empty goblet on the table with a rough clink. “Why do you think I made the Iron Legion? Why do you think I wanted to make Ultron in the first place? I was trying to make the world safer. For you, for...our family.”

“We have officially run out of options for a family,” she says. 

“Well, not true. You still have options. I’m the problem, right? So get rid of the problem.”

“Tony, that’s _not_ —” 

“Here, I’ll make it easier on you,” he says, raw. “I want you to leave. I can’t give you what you want and I’m sick of feeling like a failure everytime I look at you. So go. Marry an accountant. Adopt 2.5 kids. Have your New England dream life. I’m giving you an out. God knows you deserve it.” 

She’s not sure if it’s a bluff or a cry for help, or what. All she knows is that they can’t go on like this.


	5. Civil War

“Is Pepper here?” Steve asks. “I didn’t see her.”

Tony hasn’t seen or heard from her either, not for about two months, except for a few company related teleconferences and a few desperate late night texts.

“We are...kinda...” Tony says. 

He’s not sure how to say it. They went to couple’s therapy for months after Christmas. They agreed to take a break to work on themselves. The therapist said Pepper needs to figure out what she wants out of life. The therapist said Tony needs to stop making jokes and figure out why he hates himself. 

“...well, not kinda…” 

“Pregnant?” Steve supplies.

Tony wants to punch him. Not only for how dumb the question is, but also for how happy Steve looks at the idea. Steve Rogers is the noblest of creatures and would make an excellent father to a brood of strapping supersoldier children and Anthony Stark should not even be allowed to have an ant farm. 

“No, definitely not. We’re taking a break. It’s nobody’s fault.” 

“So sorry, Tony,” Steve says. “I didn’t know.” 

He actually does look sorry, of course he does, he’s so very thoughtful and white-toothed. The golden one the perfect one the chosen son. _Yeah right_ , like he’s going to tell Steve the whole truth. 

“Few years ago, I almost lost her, so I trashed all my suits. Then, Hydra. And then Ultron, my fault. And then, and then, and then. I never stopped. Cause the truth is I don't wanna stop. I don't want to lose her. I thought maybe the Accords could split the difference. In her defense, I'm a handful.”

In her defense: He’s addicted to chaos. He’s pathologically self-destructive and self-sabotaging and doesn’t know how to stop. 

In her defense: She’d be better off without him. Pepper would deny this vehemently, except she isn’t here. There’s no one left to disagree with him on the subject. 

 

**

 

She’s driving around her hometown in Connecticut when it happens: that sense of foreboding. She pulls over and almost hits a mailbox, heart hammering. Bracing herself for impact. Panic is upon her but God, she’s fine, she’s fine, she’s not the one in trouble, because she sees she sees—

There’s a bus dangling off the overpass in the distance. Looks like a truck hit it and the damn thing busted right through the guardrails. It teters, see-saw like and oh my God it’s going to—

She’s out of the car, running through broken glass in high heeled boots without so much as a thought. When her hands grip the bus, they don’t register how heavy it is. Her mind registers nothing but the people inside and the fact she is going to save them because there isn’t another option this is it this is—

People are screaming. Everyone is screaming and screaming and she pulls the bus back onto the road and she’s done it, it’s over. They’re back on solid ground. She feels this rush of love. No, a flood, a deluge. She saved them.

“How did you... _how_ …?” a passerby gapes. 

“That really hurt my back,” she says, realizing it. 

She flees the scene in a hurry, before anyone else sees her. She doesn’t want to be on the 5 o’clock news.


	6. Maria Hill

Maria is druuuuuuuuunk. D-runk. Pepper put the ice in the blender and the tequila in the tummy and it is delicious with the limes that smell like oceantimes. 

“I haven’t had a roommate since college,” Maria says. “I don’t like people but you are not _people_. You are _Pepper!_ ” 

Pepper laughs because Maria is the funniest person, Pepper says so. Pepper knows The Secret: Maria is All Business unless you are her roommate and then she becomes All Tequila instead. 

Pepper is All Crying and CEO Things lately. Her eyes get puffy and she looks so sad and so beautiful and Maria almost wants to kiss her sad beautiful face except that Maria doesn’t like Pepper _like that_ , in the kissing way. What she likes best of all is guns and getting shit done, and also tacos and saving the world. 

She also likes taking care of her friends when they need to not live with Tony Stark for a while because Tony Stark couldn’t stop being Tony Stark long enough for anyone to sell him a baby. 

Maria reeeeeeealy doesn’t like babies but she thinks it’s a-okay that Pepper likes babies. Pepper is sweet and her hair is made of sunshine rays. 

“Can I brush your hair?” Maria offers, because she is the best host. 

Pepper laughs and says “Sure” and Maria is happy because she also has a cat and she loves brushing her cat. Pepper is like having another cat in the house. Pepper curls up on the couch a lot and also drinks milk because her bones are like old lady bones. Pepper told her so. 

But tonight they do not drink milk. 

“That feels nice,” Pepper says. Pepper’s eyes are closed because the brushing feels nice and also four margaritas live inside her. Maria is brushing her sunshine cat hair. 

“I think I’m going crazy,” Pepper says. 

“You’re not crazy,” Maria says and she decides to hug Pepper. Maria hugs her and tries not to crush Pepper’s old lady bones which are also very strong and can pick up buses, which is a little crazy actually. 

“I told you about the bus,” Pepper whispers (except it’s really loud). “I haven’t told you about the other times. One of my board members had a heart attack in a meeting the other day. I carried him out of the room. I carried him down nine flights of stairs to put him in the ambulance. He weighs 300 pounds. Stuff like that just keeps happening. People are going to start to nooootice.”

Maria grabs at Pepper’s bicep and squeezes a couple of times, because she’s very curious about Pepper’s anatomy now. But not in a sexy way, just in a doctor way, which can sometimes be sexy apparently but it is not right now. She squeezes Pepper’s bicep very hard and it helps the room stop spinning. 

Maria says, “Your arms are like a 10 year old boy’s arms.” 

“I know! I doesn’t make any sennnnnse. I thought maybe it was because of Extremis, latent effects or something, but I’m not sure. I’m more confused than ever.”

They already did a few tests, back when Pepper first told her about the bus. Pepper is not a mutant or an Inhuman she’s just a Pepper. 

“The bus,” Maria says. “Did you glow red and almost melt the thing when you caught it?”

“No.”

“Probably not Extremis.”

“What do I do about it?” Pepper asks, before asking another important question: “What do I do about _anything?_ ”

“What do you want?”

“That’s what my therapist says I need to figure out.” (Pepper gets grumpy about her therapist.) 

“Well, what are your options?” Maria asks. 

“Option one,” Pepper says, holding up one finger. “Divorce Tony and adopt a baby and be a mom.” 

“Valid.” 

“Option two,” Pepper says, holding up two fingers. “Stay with Tony because I love him and never be a mom.” 

“Also valid.”

“Option two,” Pepper says, holding up three fingers. “Put off deciding forever until I die here in your apartment.”

Maria really wants to ask “Why do you want a baby?” but she knows better. 

“Why do you want a baby?” she asks.

“It’s hard to describe,” Pepper who-is-not-mad says. “A lot of it is just...instinct? I want to take care of someone. I want to see them grow and I want to protect them.” 

“Oooh,” Maria says. “That’s kind of like being a SHIELD agent. We protect people.” 

“I guess so,” Pepper muses. “It’s not exactly the same, but...Yeah. You’re right.” 

Maria is right. Maria yells, “THE EARTH IS FULL OF MY BABIES.”

Pepper jumps about 12 feet in the air from the noise (oops oh no) and then she looks at Maria like Maria is the funniest person ever, which she is, and also like Maria just solved a mystery on Sherlock, and also likes she is going to cry.

Pepper is crying now and her nose is running and it is disgusting, so Maria pats her nice and soft on her sunshine head. 

“I think I do know what I want,” Pepper says with a sob. 

“What’s that?” 

She stops crying and takes a deep breath and her tone goes from soft to steel. “I want Tony to make me a suit.”


	7. Christmas Eve 2016

Stand.   
Sing.   
Sit.   
Kneel. 

She remembers how the cycle goes. The liturgy washes over her all the way in the back row, the row that gets blasted with frosty air every time someone walks in late. 

Every time someone walks in late, she hopes it’s him. She told him where she’d be. She told him everything. 

She’s saved him a seat. 

Stand.   
Sing.  
Sit.   
Kneel. 

He slips in quietly during a prayer. When she’d closed her eyes, the spot on the pew next to her was empty. But now her eyes are open and he’s there. He’s here. 

They look at each other without saying a word. There are a thousand things to discuss but none of them seem to matter just yet. He reaches for her hand. Their fingers interlace and they smile, despite tears welling up. 

“I thought you were gonna send me papers,” Tony whispers. “Every time I got mail I was worried it was gonna be from you. This is what I’ve been reduced to - fearing the postal service.”

“Your ass is mine,” Pepper whispers back. “Forever.”

An old lady a row ahead of them turns around and gives them A Look. 

He sniggers and squeezes Pepper’s hand tighter. “I love you,” he mouths silently. 

“I love you too,” she mouths back. 

It’s time to pray again, but she doesn’t pray to God this round. She closes her eyes and speaks to someone else in the silence: 

_How strange it is to love someone who was never here at all. Oh, sweet thing, you were my best idea. You look like your daddy, whoever he is._

_What I wouldn’t have given for you to have ruined my figure, or my bank account, or both. For you to have scribbled crayon on the walls, go ahead. I wouldn’t have minded. I would’ve probably snapped pictures of it and shown the neighbors later._

_I see Tony holding you as a squirmy toddler, up up in the air, making airplane sounds. He would’ve loved you if he weren’t so afraid. I think he did love you, and that’s why got so afraid. His guilt made him afraid of you and me and everything._

_It was you or him, don’t you see? I could’ve filed the papers and then filed your papers and it would’ve just been you and me. But I made a promise, little one. My love for him is what made me want you. My love for him is what keeps me from you now._

_I could’ve pushed for you like I was in labor, I could’ve twisted an arm. I could’ve demand he do it my way or the highway, bye. But that’s no way to bring life into this world, now is it?_

_I made a promise, little one. Please don’t hold it against me. Don’t you whisper to me on my deathbed that I should’ve picked you instead. You have the unfair advantage of being an idea and ideas can’t make mistakes like he can and does and will. You are perfect in your un-real state and he is real and brilliant and breathtaking and flawed and I made a promise. I am a woman of my word._

_Amen._


	8. Virginia Stark

The suit is red and gold and sleek. 

It has all the same bells and whistles and buttons and features as Tony’s, and by now she’s adept at using them, forcefully if necessary. It took less time than she expected for her to feel at home in it. She used to be wary of heights. Now she turns barrel rolls for the hell of it. 

Tonight she feels goosebumps erupt on her neck as she patrols. Foreboding. Intuition. Trouble is on its way. Isn’t it always?

Probably nothing as wild as aliens or rogue AI or supervillains. Pepper’s fought off her share of those with the team, but that threat-level is a rarity these days, thank God. Mostly she stops muggings, or pulls cars out of ditches, or children from firetrap apartments as the flames lick higher. The FDNY calls her a saint and lets her ride on the ladder truck every now and then.

Two months ago she stopped a shooting in the Upper East Side. A 14 year old boy in a prep school uniform pointed a gun at her face and emptied the entire magazine, and of course the bullets bounced right off her helmet. When he went to reload she risked it - she’s not sure why. She could’ve just blasted him. But she lowered her helmet and looked him in the eye and very sternly yet kindly told him to stop. Then she said all sorts of things, she doesn’t even remember exactly what, just that her tone was halfway scolding and halfway loving. He moved to shoot himself instead, and she grabbed the gun, because he’d let her get close enough. He burst into tears and fell to the ground and shook until the cops came to get him. She bent down and and rolled back her armor a little and put her very human hand to his shoulder. She didn’t say “It’ll be okay”, because it wasn’t going to be, not for him, probably not ever. But he was a very sick child and she put a hand to his shaking shoulders. 

Tony says she’s like some kind of guardian angel. But she’s not a saint or an angel. She’s something much more simple. 

Tonight she makes her rounds: Manhattan, Harlem, Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, a then a moment of relative silence and darkness over the upper bay before she begins again. Dispatch is quiet. The calm before the storm.  
With a tilt of her head and a woosh, she soars up and up and up into the vastness. The night is clear. When she goes high enough, she can see the stars twinkling, despite the ambient light down below. This might be her favorite part of her new life: the view from it. 

She flies over city lights, watchful. 

She listens for cries of distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> There might be more to come in this universe eventually! RESCUE!PEPPER IS EVERYTHING.
> 
> In the meantime, you can follow me on [tumblr](http://thischairismyhomenow.tumblr.com) if you'd like. :)
> 
> OR, if you're Stucky trash and enjoy suffering/hope, you can read my post-Civil War fic [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8373568/chapters/19182274)


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